


The Walking Dead

by ExpectoPadoughnut



Category: Impractical Jokers, Tenderloins (Comedians)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Multi, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6409504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectoPadoughnut/pseuds/ExpectoPadoughnut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been 8 long months of harsh survival and worse, unanswered prayer. The tiny band of friends had stuck close, picking up a few stragglers here and there and generally surviving on sheer damn luck, because no one had a fucking clue what was going on. Well, what they did know was that every movement of theirs was stalked by recreations of a cliché zombie apocalypse film- but that was a fantasy created by gore fans, surely. Until the harsh realities of death and destruction awoken them and the Impractical Jokers soon realised it wasn't a cliché film. It was real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Walking Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I'm watching The Walking Dead (hence the title because I honestly couldn't think of anything more appropriate in the spur of moment) and then this happened. All I can tell you is that I'm as confused as you are. 
> 
> I don't know where this is going or even if it's going anywhere at all. I just know it was a plot bunny that needed to be put on paper, so here's what happened...

Things had been quiet the last few days with little movement from the surrounding trees. Sal and Murr had taken advantage and gone out for a run to search a nearby town on the map; they had been gone longer than usual and the sudden appearance of the walking dead had set them all on edge. 

The creatures came ambling from a clearing behind the wooden cabin they had been lucky to come upon. It was stocked with little and had clear signs of past inhabitation by other groups; a list of names had been scratched onto the mantle piece of the crumbling fire place: _Paul, Henry, Lori, Denis, Dehlia, Diane, Emmett…_

“You ready, Quinn?” called Joe, jogging quickly down the front steps of the old cabin, pulling an axe from the wooden door frame. His scavenged hunting jacket had grown loose over the last few weeks; all of them had found they needed to cut more holes in their belts. 

“Stay inside, Bee,” ordered Q, coming out behind Joe with a .32 caliber pistol strapped to his belt and a pick axe in hand. “Bring Lily upstairs and lock the door.” He matched Joe’s step and they shared a fleeting glance, one filled with determination and a silent wish of luck that none of the friends had dared utter for fear it would jinx them. “Ready when you are,” he said with a nod and they separated slightly, taking the creatures from either side. 

Joe swung his axe hard, landing it between the eyes of a mangled zombie with half a jaw that exposed decaying gums. Black, arterial blood gushed from the crevice and the thing crumpled. He swung quickly to the left, kicking an approaching lady with black gnashing teeth to the floor before stamping her forehead, until the sickening crunch leaked grey matter. 

“Behind you,” he yelled at Q, landing another blow and pacing across the dampened black grass to aid his friend. 

Q’s pickaxe knocked the head clean off one zombie dressed in a hospital gown, half his torso shredded to expose rotting insides. He pushed long hair from his face and drew the .32, swinging it around and putting a bullet above the right eye of a blackened figure. It fell at his feet, gloopy liquid oozing onto his boot. The shot rang heavy in the air and he instantly regretted the move, knowing if there was anything within a mile that it had changed its course toward the sound. 

“Had to be done,” said Joe by way of comfort, kicking a decayed hand from his path. There was a thin glisten of sweat over his top lip and he sniffed, recoiling at the stench. “Looks like someone tried to burn it. Looks fresh, too.”

Q sneered at the trickle of black blood that stained his boot and stepped away, truly annoyed with himself. _Shouldn’t have used the gun, shouldn’t have made that stupid move._ His feet kicked turfs of upturned grass the Jeep had left behind and he climbed the wooden steps into the cabin, landing his pick axe loudly in the door frame. 

“It was one shot,” said Joe, wrenching the weapon from the door and dragging it in. “We’ve fired more with no repercussions.”

“We got lucky those times,” Q snapped, staring at the stain of blood with immense hatred. “And we’re running out of that and everything else!” His darks brows met in the middle and he turned to face Joe, this time with exhaustion in his eyes. “We’ve been running around these woods for 2 weeks with no idea what we’re looking for, except maybe a few scraps of tinned spam and that’s left us with two missing men.”

“There’ll be rough patches-”

“Rough patches? You’re calling this a rough patch?” he yelled, flicking his hand around the damp cabin that had become temporary home number eleven. It was sizeable for the small group: Joe, Murr, Sal and himself, and then Beatrix and Lily, who they had picked up on the edges of California. Everybody else, everyone they knew had scattered or been taken. Q had brief contact with his brother up until the phone networks went down 5 months prior. Last he knew Declan had made it to Illinois where there had been talks of a safe harbour set up by the military. Luck, which Q scoffed at when he thought of it, was what had brought the four friends together on their journey. They had been filming when it happened and now they were here, somewhere in Montana in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by the living dead. 

“How can ya be so stupid, Joe?” he continued. “We’re in the middle of God damn nowhere with no idea what we’re doing. Sal and Murr have been gone since dawn with a truck full of ammo and food. Winter’s coming and we’ve got enough supplies to see us another three weeks. And you call this rough? I call this a fucking death sentence.”Footsteps above them silenced Q a moment and he watched as a set of feet edged down the stairs.

“Brian?” a small voice called and he looked up at the little girl who peered cautiously at him through the banisters on the stairs. She was 5-years-old, with unruly brown curls and soft green eyes. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that he had helped keep her alive. 

“Come on down for some hot chocolate,” he said at last, turning away to crouch alongside the fire and boil some water; the fierce blaze in his eyes put the flames to shame.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that... I think. I'm actually tapping on my keyboard and looking around the room while I try to explain this.


End file.
